


How you look and how you act and how you think

by Spylace



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Community: pacificrimkink, Herc tries damage control, M/M, Object Insertion, Poor Chuck, Stacker wants to try everything, there is trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spylace/pseuds/Spylace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Herc and Stacker try something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How you look and how you act and how you think

**Author's Note:**

> Filled for the prompt: 
> 
> Stacker may seem very proper and buttoned-up, but he's actually very kinky in bed. Like, gimme erotic asphyxiation, snowballing, fisting, watersports or whatever. The kinkier, the better.
> 
> Bonus if he suggests something so outrageous that it makes Herc hesitate.
> 
> (http://pacificrimkink.livejournal.com/350.html?thread=139870#t139870)

Late at night, the training hall was empty save for the two of them, sparring because they were restless in their old age, from the wait and grief. Because this was the next best thing to a drift they had in place of actual speech.  
  
Herc landed hard on the training mat, breathing noisily at the press of the bo tracing his neck. He raised an eyebrow at the blinding flash of teeth, knowing what the other man wanted from the slow grind of an ankle against his calves, the way the other man leaned down with nothing but trouble in his dark eyes.  
  
Stacker Pentecost was the kinkiest motherfucker he ever had the pleasure of meeting. Between raising Chuck and fighting Kaiju, he had no idea what he had been missing out on until the younger ranger, now the Marshall and the Commander-in-chief of the entire Resistance, so prim and fucking proper in his pressed uniform and shined shoes, deigned to broaden his horizons.  
  
On the scale of things, exhibition did not even make it to top ten of christening the Hong Kong Shatterdome.  
  
But he felt the rising need to protest. If Herc did not set a good precedent, Stacker would take it into his cracked head that it was okay to bend him over in the control room or _godforbid_ one of Geiszler’s Kaiju collection.  
  
“What? Here?” He hissed, getting to his feet. The other man pushed him back down. “’s the matter H? Can’t take a little exhibition?”  
  
“You’re a Marshall.” He complained half-heartedly as he slid out of his shorts, the faint rasp of the soft material raising goose bumps down his skin. Stacker raised his eyebrows appreciatively when he saw that he wore nothing beneath. He grinned, “Exactly”.  
  
It was a good thing Chuck was so bloody-minded, he thought. Herc had already scared him off straight sex and as much as he admired his son’s dedication to the cause, it was somewhat telling on his part as a father when Chuck thought a good time meant showing a lady the working parts of a Jaeger.  
  
But Herc hadn’t escaped drifting unscathed either. Universal compatibility meant that throughout his career, there had been some spectacularly unfortunate match ups like the one fuckwit who ended up chasing the rabbit mid-battle because a Kaiju happened to look like a goat’s arse. The one good thing about partnering with his son had been that Chuck was disappointingly _vanill_ a.  
  
Stacker chuckled as though in agreement, “Am I boring you?”  
  
“No I was just...” He protested, his pleas quickly turning into a growl when the warm hands disappeared from the vicinity of his dick along with the rest of Stacker Pentecost, returning only when he tried to sit up and reclaim some of his tattered dignity. “Stack, what in blazes are you trying to do?”  
  
His eyes widened when he saw what the other man had in his hands.

Distantly, he heard a crinkle of cellophane, the slick sound of a condom rolled down one end of a practice bo. Jesus fucking Christ, it was long. A lot thicker than he thought it was when he’d held it. Gym equipment wasn’t meant to be used this way. Ancient martial artists must have been rolling in their graves at the desecration of their art but Stacker expertly fisted the wooden pole like another man’s cock, his fingers shiny with lube.  
  
“On your stomach.” Stacker ordered, tapping his feet.  
  
“Stack” Herc warned. There were limits.  
  
“Coward” The other man retorted easily. “Don’t you trust me?”  
  
He stared dubiously at the makeshift phallus and back.  
  
“Not when there are people who could waltz in right this second. What if Miss Mori decides that she wants some extra practice? What if it’s my son?” He shuddered at the thought.  
  
Stacker shrugged, a fluid sort of movement that ended with the other man between his knees, sucking the air from his lungs.  
  
“Told Tendo to turn the cameras off.” Stacker confessed with a sheepish smile.  
  
Herc swallowed, running his tongue over his teeth. “Did you tell him why?”  
  
“I didn’t think it mattered.” The other man replied, kissing the long line of his neck.  
  
“And if he decides to watch?”  
  
Stacker snorted playfully. “Would you get off on that? Him watching? You imagining Tendo here right now, watching you, holding you down?”  
  
Herc bit off a groan.  
  
“I _wish_ he was the one here right now.”  
  
“No you don’t.” Stacker corrected.  
  
“No I don’t.” He sighed, pushing on his hands for another kiss. “Oh what the hell.” He rolled over on his elbows, tentatively spreading his legs to their best advantage. Herc didn’t miss the sudden silence that fell between them nor the large hands that began to knead the bunched muscle from his shoulder and down, settling at his hips.  
  
“You ready?” Stacker asked, stroking his flank and the small of his back. Herc grinned, feeling like he could take a Kaiju on his own. “Just try not to make this a habit.”

The first centimeter of a bo felt okay. Wasn’t too much, wasn’t very interesting either other than the jump of anticipation at having the other man pressed against his thighs, breathing against his hole like hoping to start a bush telly on his arse. Stacker was certainly no slouch in the size department and they’d experimented plenty over the years to know that they were just stalling, the slow burn of getting caught jacking their hearts.  
  
When nothing happened, no unfortunate cadet running screaming from the kwoon, Stacker pushed in a little deeper. He let out a grunt, feeling something spark at the blunt end of the pole like potential waiting to be set ablaze. Stacker, having decided that the bo was a poor substitute of his cock, thrust a finger in beside, causing him to bite down on his knuckle lest he woke up the entire shatterdome with his cries.  
  
He clawed at the training mats, his nails catching nothing but its matte black color. It felt like someone had taken a taser to his nerve endings, a miniature lightning that’s spinning up and down his spine. Stacker, the ratbag bastard, allowed him a breather before resuming, the one hand where his arse met his thighs like a steady anchor through a brewing storm.  
  
“Can you take more?” Stacker asked, a second finger pressing inquisitively at his entrance. He swore that if they survived this, they would engage in a safe and consensual play like crossdressing or maybe even rope bondage.  
  
When another finger slipped in, he shivered, knowing that there were cameras everywhere and people behind them, watching through the cold lens. He trusted Tendo with his life. Had been rewarded for his trust on the field. But what if Tendo had shut off all screens but one and was watching, this very moment, like how he’d watched porn late at night on borrowed videos and dvd.  
  
He rolled his hips trying to accommodate, his cock leaking all its pent up frustration against the worn training mat. The deliberate rhythm Stacker had been building falters, punctuated by a curse and rustle of something more than clothes.  
  
“I can do this all day mate.” He boasted; sweat pouring off his temples like a sluice of Hong Kong rain shower. “Can you?”  
  
For that Stacker twisted in a third finger and he stuttered out a wheezing laughter, pushing back like he just can’t get enough. The bo pressed unerringly on his prostate with each thrust, the extra fingers like an extra dessert at a restaurant, something decadent, something he would make room for no matter how full he was.  
  
The other man slips a hand beneath his belly, jacked him off when he was nothing more than a quivering mass of flesh balanced on his elbows. “Stack” He groaned. “You fucking _cheat_.”  
  
“Herc” Stacker answered, the bo forgotten. “I’ve got you.”  
  
He came to the pulse on his cock.

 

 

 

(a/n: and because I couldn't resist...)

Outtake #1

“Hey Tendo, anything good on the cameras?”  
  
Tendo Choi jumped from where he was furtively jerking off behind a screen. A familiar head poked in, accompanied by a mug of hot tea and uncoiled grace that had no reason to be out and about at ass o’ clock in the morning.  
  
Chuck Hansen was a heavy sleeper, slept like a log, like a proverbial baby because no real babies slept as deeply as the aggressive ranger did. But he made up for it by waking up like clockwork once he’d had the requisite seven hours. It meant that whenever he went to sleep early, he would also wake up early, trying to amuse himself until it was decent to be up and about.  
  
Oh shit—Tendo thought, scrambling to cover. But Chuck wasn’t interested in the shatterdome technician, he had already glimpsed the miles of skin on the computer monitor.  
  
“Oh my god” The young man squeaked, dropping his mug on the floor. It shattered on impact but he didn’t seem to notice. “Oh my god, what the hell? Dad?!”

Outtake #2

(a/n: In which a generation of pilots are ruined because Herc and Stacker couldn’t keep it in their pants.)  
  
After a long spiel, Mako Mori concluded, “That is why I think you would complement each other well.”  
  
Chuck scratched the back of his head nervously, looking to see if there was any chance of escape. Bugger, there was none. “Look Mako, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the effort, wait, I don’t, but I’m not into... that.”  
  
Mako frowned.  
  
“I do not understand.”  
  
Had she missed something? She had drifted with Raleigh earlier and was reasonably sure that her co-pilot held no untoward intentions for the young man she considered one of her closest friends. But perhaps she hadn’t been looking hard enough. Maybe she hadn’t noticed anything because sex was private, not something people normally called attention to. Maybe Raleigh was what Hansen-san had called ‘extremely bad news, always be on the lookout Miss Mori’ all the while glaring at her adoptive father.  
  
Meanwhile, Chuck fidgeted on the spot as though called upon to solve an extremely complicated equation. “You know” He hissed finally. “Ten-foot poles.”  
  
Oh

Outtake #3

The kids, Raleigh, Dr. Geiszler and the Wei triplets sat in a half-circle watching pron on honest-to-god VCR. He didn’t even know they made those anymore.  
  
While Geiszler enthusiastically described the scene in which a woman debased herself for her partner’s pleasure, Raleigh threw a strangled look towards where Chuck and Mako sat huddled together on a sofa. Mako kept trying to cover Chuck’s eyes. Chuck tried to get her to quit it and failed.  
  
The situation had been brought to their attention when Gottlieb sourly informed them that Geiszler had set up some sort of a sex shop in one of the rec rooms. Unable to summarize the utter train wreck that was happening before his eyes, he cleared his throat. The effect was instantaneous.  
  
Geiszler hit pause, annoyed and extrapolating on the benefits of sexual education.  
  
Raleigh jumped to his feet snappily enough, muttering something about supervision, his ears burning red.  
  
The Weis remained seated where they were. When pressed with an inquiring glower, Wu shrugged “we heard there was porn.”  
  
“But not good porn.” Jin added quickly. “Japanese is better.”  
  
Cheung scowled. “You think everything Japanese is better.”  
  
The kids on the other hand remained silent.  
  
“How is this my life?” Herc beseeched to whichever deity was listening. Beside him, Stacker studied the freeze frame with the intensity normally reserved for budget plans and when he was trying to make Herc scream. He did not have a good feeling about this.  
  
“Do you still have that...”  
  
“What does that have to do with anything?!”  
  
Chuck squeaked, much quicker on the uptake.  
  
“Good” Stacker nodded. “Let’s go. I have paperwork.”  
  
Geiszler rolled his eyes. Audibly.  
  
“Oh come on, that’s not even _subtle_!”

**Author's Note:**

> The typically snail-pace transference of my fills to AO3 :D


End file.
